


Express Delivery

by orphan_account



Series: Delivery [1]
Category: EastEnders
Genre: Chryed, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different Town, Same Shit?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Express Delivery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ljtest](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ljtest).



Express Delivery

 

 

 

Couldn't say it was exactly the fulfilment of a life-long ambition – serving coffee to ungrateful bastards? - but at least it had the advantage of you know, allowing him to eat every day, buy clothes, pay rent. And okay, the people he worked with were a laugh – they were, in fact, the one thing that made any of it worthwhile – so yeah it was _bearable_. Just.

The customers, though. Either they were rude and dismissive or way too friendly – flirting, speaking to him in what he saw as an offensively familiar manner – basically making the job more difficult that it had any need to be. He'd always dismissed his mother's rather jaundiced view of customer relations, knowing as he did that she wasn't particularly keen on 'English ways'. She claimed not to be a racist, and he sort of didn't think she was _exactly,_ just misanthropic – and rather unapologetically so. But having been in the midst of 'customer relations' for the past 6 months he'd begun to see some merit to her way of thinking.

But complain as he might he had to be grateful, didn't he? Being a student brought with it some obvious disadvantages, but also some rather less obvious ones – the fact that people were willing to give  _you_ the job rather than someone who was simply unemployed for starters. He hadn't stopped to analyse why that might be, but knew that it was so, and could only be grateful for that fact. He knew that while jobs weren't exactly thick on the ground he did stand a better chance of getting one while he had his student union card and that pretty much stopped all feelings of resentment in their tracks, didn't it?

Well it should certainly  _should_ have, but yeah he was still working on that one.

Coffee. Well he'd certainly gone off  _that_ in a hurry. Hadn't been a big coffee drinker in the first place, but now didn't drink it at all. The smell alone was enough to give him a headache! Pretty damn ironic really when you thought about it. But it was either that or come home stinking of booze or frying oil every night. Plus the hours helped with the study too – working nights just wouldn't have worked for him at all - early hours were far better. Customers tended to be more miserable then, of course, but couldn't have everything, could you? For now it was all working, if not perfectly then well enough to get by. And besides, Syed knew by now that you were just never going to get what you wanted in life so had to take what you could – and be damn grateful for it.

“Got any Maxwell House?”

Turning, Syed saw that he was the one being addressed: there were two others at the counter, but the guy was definitely addressing the question to  _him_ . Tall, slim, with brown hair cut in a style that indicated that this guy was probably one of those who prided themselves on keeping abreast of the very latest trends. Syed felt a part of him bristle at this thought,but the  _majority_ of him was sitting up and taking notice – couldn't deny that. Didn't know if he had a  _type_   
– way too fraught with danger to even  _consider_ such a thing – but this guy seemed to be ticking a lot of the boxes he might have had -  _if_ he'd had a type. “You did read the menu, didn't you?” He handed him a convenient list, carefully allowing the guy to touch his finger as he passed it over. “I think you're mistaking this for a lorry driver's caff.”

The guy laughed, pretty much ignoring everything and everyone else as he leaned on the counter, his entire focus on Syed. His eyes were green. “And it isn't?”

Picking up the cup he'd just wiped Syed concentrated on wiping it again. “Well I can see why you'd mistake it for one, but no, no bacon  _or_ sausages, or even eggs. Plenty of gourmet coffee though.” Luckily they were in one of the rare quiet periods of the day so he could afford to do this – flirt, without his colleagues looking like they wanted to take his head off. They were listening, watching, but seemed  _amused_ more than anything. It was standard practice to flirt with customers, didn't mean you were gay or anything like.

“Well no, no bacon – you're Muslim, right?”

Syed stared at him. Did he have a fucking label on his forehead or something? “Ye-s,” he said hesitantly, not quite sure where this was going.

“Yeah, I thought so.” He was wearing an expression Syed couldn't quite read, but it made him a little uncomfortable, uncomfortable enough to want to escape the heat of his focused attention.

“Did you want to order?” He aimed to keep it friendly whilst making it clear that friendly was all he was after. The change in the guy's demeanour, slight as it was, made him know he'd succeeded.

“Cappuccino, please.” He'd stopped smiling, but the _intensity_ of his gaze hadn't changed. He was looking at Syed very much like he was a puzzle he was determined to figure out. “Double.”

Nodding in assent Syed went about the business of preparing the drink, very aware of being watched. He didn't exactly mind the attention, the flirting, there was just something that made him worry that there was more behind it than harmless fun.

“Which uni?”

“Sorry?”

The man laughed. He had an easy laugh and Syed could somehow just tell that laughing was something that came easily. “It's a well known fact that you pretty much have to be a student to work here.”

Syed smiled. “Well known.”

“Absolutely.” He was smiling now, too. “You can't get to the third year of uni and not work at least a _couple_ of shifts here.”

“Really.”

He laughed again, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “Well that's what I've heard anyway.”

“Must be true then.” He placed the cup in front of him. “£2.80, please.”

“Gosh, it's gone up a bit hasn't it?”

Syed shrugged: those were the prices. This wasn't a lorry driver's caff, after all.

“Thank you.” The guy, once again, seemed to be trying to send him a message with his eyes; his stance. Once again Syed was aware that he was having trouble reading that message.

“You're welcome, please come again.”

“Steady on. Aren’t I allowed to finish it _before_ I leave?”

Grinning, Syed capitulated. “Okay, okay. Would you like to take a seat? I'll bring your cappuccino over.”

“Well that's very kind, thank you.” But instead of doing so just stood there, smiling at him.

Trying to hold back his own smile, Syed enquired: “Oh would you like me to choose the table  _for_   
you?”

“Would you?” He too was clearly having trouble holding back his grin.

Syed found himself helplessly drawn to that grin – oh hell every damn thing about the guy. “Follow me.”

And laughing now, the guy did exactly that.

 

 

**

His name was Chris – to my friends – Christian to everyone else.

Christian. He liked that. Better than Chris, actually, which felt a little too informal for him. Christian had family in Lancashire, which was why he was up there, but lived and worked in Brighton. He'd persuaded Syed to sit with him for a few moments – against his better judgement – and had been happy to engage in a one way sharing of information, not objecting when as soon as the questions started coming  _Syed's_ way he'd made an excuse to return to his work.

“You on shift later?” Christian had barely touched his drink and was holding it now, close to his lips, but not yet taking the plunge.

“No.” Syed was getting a little restless, suddenly steeped in the paranoid certainty that the entire shop had been observing their encounter and judging them – him. He didn't seem able, however, to find the will to move away.

“Tomorrow?” There was something about the way he asked, like he _knew_ , knew Syed's shift pattern.

“Afternoon,” he confirmed, not even bothering to ask himself why he'd volunteer that unnecessary extra piece of information.

“Of course. Well, see you then – Syed.”

Syed blushed, turning swiftly away, hoping vainly that Christian  _hadn't_   
seen.

A caress, an intimate caress, that's how it had felt to hear Christian say his name that way, and he was simply not equipped – and knew it – to deal with something like that – not in private and certainly not in public.

He knew damn well he was in danger of biting off far more than he could comfortably chew, but as he went about his duties, Christian's eyes following him – not intrusively, just...there - also realised that there was no chance that he'd let _that_ influence the decision he'd apparently  _already_   
reached. 

But he wouldn't take extra special care with his appearance tomorrow, wouldn't wear that aftershave his sister had bought him two Christmases ago, would treat tomorrow like any other day, because it  _was_ like any other day. Course it was.

 

**

That turned out, naturally, to be quite spectacularly far from the truth: that day was unlike any other day; that day became one he'd remember for the rest of his life.

**

The day started out badly, of course: awake practically all night he was startled out of a fitful sleep by the shrill sound of his alarm singing its song for the 5th time! He was late, thoroughly late, or at least he _would_ be by the time he showered, powdered, primped, primped again, consulted his image in the mirror and primped one last time. He had, of course, set his alarm one full hour early for just this eventuality, but hadn't anticipated not actually sleeping _first._

He hated rushing; nothing ever went right when you started out your day in a rush.

He wasn't _particularly_ happy with his appearance either...

 

**

It was Syed's long held theory that dickishness was in inverse proportion to hotness, certainly so far as lecturers were concerned: the less hot you were the more dickish you were likely to be. Take Mike Price for instance: skinny and unattractive he seemed to take sadistic pleasure in singling out those whom _he_ obviously saw as universally attractive, doing all he could to make them look small. For some reason Syed seemed to be one of his favourite targets, which was why he'd definitely considered giving the lecture a miss rather than arrive late – even a few minutes was unacceptable to this guy and he was definitely more than a few minutes late – but _missing_ a lecture was far, far worse. So gritting his teeth, he pushed the door open, mouthed a hasty apology in Price's direction and tried to hurry unobtrusively to his seat.

Nothing doing, of course.

It had been some time since Price had found anything to pick at: Syed was diligent with his course work, well-researched, well-prepared for his tutorials; always on time, ready with an answer; polite and engaged (since he recognised that the last thing one should do was give the guy any reason – any reason at all – to exercise his bitter spite). It made sense, therefore, that Price's frustration would be at dangerously high levels, ready to spill like toxic waste all _over_ him.

But why _today_ of all days?

**

Since he'd been 'forced' to return home to change his outfit, have another shower, alter his hairstyle, he arrived late for his shift. And because today was obviously going to be a really shitty day he learned that his least favourite co-worker had swapped shifts and would be working alongside him all afternoon...

Fan-bloody-tastic!

Well at least he had Christian to look forward to.

 

**

Christian didn't turn up.

All day, all night – all bloody night! - he'd lain awake anticipating this and he hadn't even bloody bothered to show up.

Of course he hadn't actually _said_ he would, but it had been understood. Hadn't it?

So an entire shitty shift with the shit of all shits for company and no bloody Christian.

Probably served him right, though; he should surely know by now that heading in that direction even in thought (forget _deed_ ) was a sure and certain way to ensure an unnecessarily hellish existence. And if he'd needed a reminder, well he'd just got one – square in the face.

Once again he'd shown just how unsuited he was for this lifestyle. Anyone else would probably have been able to _tell_ that the guy had just been messing with them, just flirting – standard. Only his naivete had chosen to make it something it was clearly never meant to be.

And now he'd have to find a way to deal with this bloody disappointment, this absurdly _devastating_ disappointment on this, the shittiest of all shitty days.

Best to do as his mum wanted – get married as soon as he left uni – for then there'd be no chance of him getting his hopes raised only to watch them come crashing down in front of his eyes, would there?

 

**

Normally whenever he had an afternoon shift he'd spend the following hours in the library catching up on notes, reading course material – head down, ensuring that his job never had a chance of getting in the way of his education. Today was the first day he could remember going straight home post shift; going home and shutting himself away in his room – no books, no notes, not even a single thought pertaining to academia or work of any kind.

He actually hated this, feeling like this, so deep in his head it felt like he was going crazy. And it had been such a small thing, though: he hadn't even realised he'd built all his hopes on seeing Christian again. Yet here he was, as down as he'd ever been during those dark teenage years when murky brown confusion had been the dominant colour of his existence. He'd vowed to never, ever go there again, and for the most part had honoured that vow; easier, of course, when he invoked the tenets of his religion to keep him on track. He was a believer – course he was – he was just aware of the possibility of using Islam as a sort of get out of jail free card; a means of 'helping' him make the hard decisions or rather _not_ making them. So long as Islam proscribed his behaviour he didn't have to take responsibility for how he felt, for running from those uncomfortable feelings; for always, always saying no.

And he'd honestly thought he'd found a way, a real workable way of dealing with his uncomfortable sexual desires – hide behind his faith, letting Islam take the rap, as it were. But for some reason this guy had got under his skin. He didn't even bloody _know_ him for god’s sake, and although physically he was definitely Syed's type it wasn't difficult to figure out that he probably wasn't in any _other_ way, very probably someone who'd get on his nerves really, really quickly. So why the hell had he got into this state over a guy who clearly just wasn't worth it? He clearly _wasn't_ , because if he _had_ been the type of guy worth Syed's time then he would bloody well have kept his promise; not bloody flirted with him, making him expect something that he clearly had never had the slightest intention of delivering, get him into this state and not even give it a second thought...

He knew he was getting too bloody deep into his head here, knew that if he didn't stop himself he could stay in this state for hours, but also knew that there was no point in trying to force it – he was upset and needed to work through it first. He'd tried it the other way and it had never worked, so hard as this was, annoying as this was it was something he needed to do to get back to a state of equilibrium, so that's what he'd do.

The most annoying aspect of the entire thing was the knowledge that Christian probably hadn't given him a second thought once he'd left – on to his next bloody conquest no doubt: some cheap and easy blond he'd pick up in a bar.

“Fuck it!” He was as annoyed with himself as he was with Christian, for why was he even wasting _energy_ on this, allowing it to interfere with his life? It had been a nothing encounter, a mild flirtation that had meant nothing to Christian and had been meant to be treated in a similarly cavalier manner by Syed. Why was he still _such_ a dunce about these things? He'd been hit on by enough guys to understand how that worked – surely. Why the fuck had he treated _this_ one differently?

Right. Well there was little point in going to the library now, although he would have welcomed the change of environment. Obviously he could work through the books right here, but wasn't sure that he'd be as able to escape the fruitless introspection as he would surrounded by books and the sound of brains working...

It was at times like these that he sort of wished he drank. Sort of. It _might_ be nice to escape your cares in the bottom of a bottle. But then again, no, probably not. Knowing him he'd hit the bottle at the first sign of angst and eventually end up a hardened alcoholic!

Sighing, he stared at the leather bound, very special copy of the Koran his dad had given him the day he left for uni. Yeah, maybe if he followed _all_ the rules and not just _some_ of them he wouldn’t be in this state. But lately, he _had_ been reconsidering the marriage his mother had been planning since he was 6 years old, aware that rather than 'no, I don't even want to _think_ about it, mum!' his thoughts had softened into 'okay, maybe, but I choose my own wife!' Of course he still had two years left at uni, and maybe at least another couple of years settling into his career before he'd be expected to tie the knot, but if he was _going_ to have a wife then it might be a good idea to start looking for a girlfriend. No way was he going to have an _arranged_ marriage – had to be someone he liked, got on with; someone who'd be a good wife, a good mother. There were plenty of girls on campus who were certainly _interested_. He supposed he'd just have to make an effort to start dating some of them.

As he reached for the Koran, his phone rang, and he picked it up immediately, automatically, _expecting_ it to be work. It was – Jo, one of his favourite co-workers. “Sy? You okay?”

This was her standard greeting, so he didn't read anything into it. “Fine. You on shift?”

“Yeah, on a break.”

“Busy?”

“What do _you_ think?” Chuckling, he lay on his bed, settling in for a long conversation, but her next words startled him into an awkward, tense – upright – position. “Christian asked me to ask you to phone him. Asap.”

He stared at the phone. Literally took it from his ear and stared at it for a long moment of confused puzzlement. “Pardon?”

“Christian – the bloke you were talking to yesterday – asked me to pass his mobile number on to. He could have asked for yours, but knew that I wouldn’t give it without your permission, so told me to give you his instead. Of course he already knows your number – or at least could easily find it out – but he's not that type. He's sound is Chris.” Syed wanted to tell her to shut up for a minute while he tried to assimilate everything. “Sounds like he got caught up in something...Did you two have a date? For tonight, I mean.”

Syed knew he should be saying something at this point, but for the life of him couldn't think of a way to order the thoughts spinning around in his head enough to actually form words.

“Sy? You still there?”

He started to answer, but all that came out was a croak. Clearing his throat he tried again. “Yeah. Sorry. Did you say he asked for my number?”

“Well, no, not exactly. He came in about an hour ago. Obviously I was run off my feet so haven't had a chance to catch my breath till now otherwise I'd have passed the message on straight away-”

“What did he say?” He knew he sounded eager – too eager? - but wasn't sure he had the resources right now to be _coy_.

“Just asked if you'd already left, and when I said yeah, asked me to pass his number on so he could have a word.”

His heart had been beating pretty erratically since the onset of this conversation, but now it started banging like a big bass drum, loud in his ear, painful in his chest. He struggled to speak. “A w-ord?”

“Yeah, you know, probably to explain why he hadn't been able to make your date.”

Date? Oh yeah, that's what he wanted to say to her... “Why do you keep saying that?” He gave a little laugh, which he hoped would come across friendly, but just a little bemused. “I don't date guys.”

The ensuing silence could have been interpreted one of several ways. He was counting on it being the _right_ way – Jo was a little embarrassed by her mistaken assumptions and was thinking of a way to apologise. Not that she _needed_ to apologise. No, it wasn't that big a -

“You don't? But you're gay right?” Now she was the one who was sounding confused.”I mean I always assumed you knew I knew; didn't think it was supposed to be a _secret_ , just something we hadn't talked about because it hadn't really come up.”

Well he should have answered her immediately, of course – mock outrage, slightly-offended-but-since-it-was-an honest-mistake-not-making-too-much-of-it,-happy-to-set-her-straight. The trouble was that he was so damn surprised by her answer that he was quite literally lost for words.

“Sy, you have _got_ to know that it's fine. I don't have _any_ problem with you being gay. I mean it's a loss, sure, but since I _always_ knew you weren’t playing for our team it was never even a thing, so if that's what this is about please don't let it worry you.”

There were times when one really needed to just stop talking. This was one of those times. Jo really needed to just stop fucking talking...

“I'm not gay, but I'm not offended that you thought I was, but you know what, I've got a ton of work to get through...”

“Sy, I am _really_ sorry. I swear I didn't mean to upset you.” Thing is she was the one who sounded upset and if there was one thing he hated it was seeing women cry...

“Jo, you haven't, it's just I missed a couple of lectures and I'm playing catch-up at the moment...” As soon as he said that he knew he'd fucked up. Jo knew fuck well that if there was one thing you could say about Syed Masood it was that he'd crawl from sickbed to lecture hall just so he'd never, ever miss a lecture and have to play catch-up. And he could tell by the heavy silence on the other end of the line that she bloody well knew this.

He allowed the silence to continue for a long while, hoping she'd volunteer to break it – preferably with a complete change of subject.

She didn't.

Well this was awkward, and the thing is, fond as he was of her he most certainly didn't fancy a heart-to-heart with her on _any_ of this and certainly not right now – way too mentally fragile – so loath as he was to be actively _rude_ he had to find a way to draw a line under this – for today at least. “Look, Jo, you've got the wrong end of the stick, but that's okay. Can we talk about it – at the weekend?”

“Sure. No problem.” He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was humouring him, but if it got her to give him a little breathing space...

“Thanks. And thanks for passing on the message. I don't really know this guy...”

“He's sound – best manager we ever had. I don't think there's _one_ of us who wouldn't bite his hand off if he ever offered to come back.”

“Sorry?”

“Christian. He used to be a manager here. That's why we all know him.” She made it sound like he was aware that they _did_ all know him, but it was fucking _news_ to him!

“Oh, right.”

“That's what I meant when I said he could have got your details if he wanted. He's still management as far as we're all concerned, including the owner. Actually he and Christian-” She broke off and Syed could tell that it had been because of him, not because of speaking out of turn. She thought he'd mind being made aware of Christian's past conquests.

So he might as well not have bothered saying anything then...

“So you know him quite well then.”

“Pretty well. Really sound bloke.” Was she his agent or something? His sister? “We were all gutted when he left. You should have been at his leaving do. It was mental!” She was actually laughing now, clearly caught up in some vivid memory.

Hmm, okay, but did she think this was going to be the thing that convinced him that Christian was indeed a 'sound bloke'? “Sounds like a good time was had by all,” he said drily, hoping he didn't come off as disapproving or worse, jealous.

“He's a fun guy – you can't help but feel better when he's around.” Yeah, well. “But he's settled down a lot since then; mortgage, good job, says he's a mature adult now.” Another little laugh. “And I _believe_ him, I just know that you can't quite keep someone like Chris down for long. Sooner or later he's going to want to party.”

No, still not making a sale. The mature adult part, the mortgage and good job yes, that worked for him, but for Jo it was the party animal that was the clincher. Not so, not for him. “How long's he up here for?” Christian had said he was up here on a sort of extended visit, but hadn't said for how long nor when it was likely to end.

“Going back on Saturday.”

Well, okay, that was good – only a couple of days then. He could do that – avoid him, not think about him for the next few days and then it wouldn’t even _matter_ since he wouldn’t even _be_ there.

There was just one teeny tiny problem with Plan B. He'd felt sick to his stomach on hearing for sure that there was a definite departure date (and that it was so close), so knew that whatever poison this guy had so skilfully, covertly injected into his system wouldn't be that easily neutralised. It was clearly going to take something a little less passive than the passage of time to get rid of this particular toxin.

Could you ever cure anything by taking the cowardly way out, though? Didn't the cure invariably require a certain amount of courageous action on your part? Okay then, so...

“And he said he wanted a word.”

“Yeah. He's a rally laid-back guy is Chris, but he did seem a bit het up when he was asking me about you...”

Yeah, he could hear everything she _wasn't_ saying, no problem. _Okay_ then. “What's his number?”

As he keyed the number into his phone he tried to tell himself that it didn't mean anything, that the fact that his heart was practically jumping out of his chest meant absolutely nothing at all. He was nervous because the guy was a relative stranger and it was an awkward bloody situation. It wasn't excitement it wasn't arousal, it was _none_ of those things. And even if it had been that would mean that he was an idiot because not only was Christian leaving in two days he was also one of _those_ guys, the sort of guy Syed had vowed never, ever to even _flirt_ with. To consider breaking all his fucking rules for such a guy must mean that he was so far out of his mind a strait jacket and padded cell would be considered woefully _inadequate_ treatment...

 

**

“Hello?” He sounded a bit tentative, which was definitely not a word Syed would have associated with this guy, but of course he wouldn't recognise the number and was probably wondering – as anyone would – who was calling.

"Hi. Jo said you wanted me to call you.”

“Syed? Oh mate I am _so_ sorry. You will never guess what happened. Like a fool I got involved with my sister – doing her a favour, which, you know _never_ ends well, but muggins here never seems to learn. Anyway, how you doing?”

“Erm, fine, fine. Is your sister okay?”

“Jane? Yeah, she's fine. No it's me that got the broken foot.”

“Oh god, are you okay?”

Christian was laughing. “Yeah, it only _felt_ like it was broken. Was helping her move some stuff and some idiot dropped a bloody great sofa on his foot, didn't he? Got to admit that whenever I do the Good Samaritan bit I always end up the worse for wear or with egg on me face. Not to worry, I'm pretty used to it and I _promise_ that I'm generally not that accident prone - just when it comes to my sister.”

“So if _I_ were to ask you to help me move some furniture I wouldn’t need to worry about broken feet or anything like?” God this guy was ridiculously easy to flirt with: he hadn’t even known he was going to flirt until he felt the amusement deep in his belly and heard the words come out of his mouth.

“Well hmm, I can't actually promise that I wouldn’t be all fingers and thumbs, tripping over my own tongue around you, but-” Syed was sure he put his mouth closer to the phone at this point, “I'm sure you're used to that.”

Syed blushed with a violence he swore he could actually _feel_ , and struggled to think, let alone order his thoughts enough to speak. “Not so's you'd notice, no.”

“I don't believe you.” And he said that like he actually meant it – not a form of words, a flirtatious comment; he said it like he actually _didn't_ believe him.

Uncertain, Syed couldn't think of an apt response. He'd been given a compliment; of _that_ he was certain, but the guy was definitely confusing him. “Well, I'm probably not who you think I am.” And nope, he hadn't known he was going to say that either, but why not get it all out in the open right off the bat? If Christian was operating from a false set of assumptions then wasn’t it _better_ to put him straight rather than waste time with a flirtation that was unlikely to get anywhere?

Christian considered this for only a moment. “No, I'm pretty sure I know who you are.” And he sounded certain, something in his voice Syed had heard several times in their previous encounter, though he hadn't then (or now) been able to name it.

“We hardly know each other.”

“Every friend is a stranger at _first_.”

“True.” But naïve as he was he was fairly confident that Christian wasn't primarily considering him for his qualities as a _friend._

“So, why don't we take a shot at getting to know each other?”

“I don't date guys.” And that was probably the stupidest thing he had ever, ever said. He felt like sinking straight through the floor, but couldn’t take it back. Why had he said it though? What the hell was he trying to prove? The guy hadn’t even been _pushing_ it; now had _not_ been the time to lay cards on the table.

He was such an idiot!

Christian probably thought so too: the silence on the other end of the line was what Syed would call...startled...and seemed to go on forever, but there was an indrawn breath, followed by Christian's reply: “Would you like to _change_ that?”

And that had been such an unexpected response that Syed found himself answering pretty much against his will, drawn in once again by this man, something about his attitude so attractive, so damn compellingly _attractive_... “Yes, okay. Yeah.”

 

**

Christian took him dancing.

This was one of the few social activities in which Syed would actually say he indulged, and he was comfortable on the dance floor, pretty good too. Christian obviously agreed, laughing in delighted surprise, when Syed showed him a few of his moves. “Wow, not _just_ a pretty face then.”

Feigning umbrage Syed turned his back on him, aware that he was _really_ enjoying himself, more than happy to flirt, the heat of Christian's focused attention as intimate as a touch. He didn't know how a guy could look so damn good in a simple pair of jeans, a plain blue shirt, but Christian was pulling the look off, no question. He'd picked Syed up earlier and the first thing Syed had noticed was the scent of his cologne, then the green of his eyes. There'd been a whole lot of tension at first – couldn’t deny that – but then he'd asked Christian about his family and the tension had been broken – as simply and effortlessly as that.

Christian's mood was infectious and Syed recalled what Jo had said earlier about how it felt to be around him. Well Syed could certainly attest to that fact – being around Christian felt bloody wonderful, very much like that for as long as you were in his orbit you'd be pretty much floating on air; untouched, untouchable. And yeah he _could_ be a stupid prick and worry about the fact that they weren't even really compatible, worry about the fact that in any case he'd be leaving – for good - on Saturday _or_ he could just enjoy the occasion for what it was and _forge_ t everything else.

He opted for the second door. And what a wise choice that was turning out to be.

Guys had touched him before – of course they had – but he'd always been very careful to avoid anything that might encourage a more familiar intimacy of touch. An arm, a knee, a pat on the shoulder, an arm slung around the shoulder – all acceptable. And regardless of whether he and the guy in question had been aware that there was intent behind each excuse to touch he'd been very clear that thus far and no further would be the order of the day.

Yet here he was, Christian's hands low on his waist, crotch tight against his backside, breath warm in his hair, moving to his rhythm, allowing him an embrace he'd never even imagined sharing with his wife - out in the open for _everyone_ to see. And, apparently, he didn't actually even fucking care.

“You feel good.” Christian's voice was low, intimate – seductive.

Well he _should_ have been panicking right about now, but nope, he wasn't trying to get away, even had his hands placed firmly, encouragingly over Christian's. “So do you.” First time he'd felt the heat of a cock against his backside like that – he'd _seen_ a few – well the _evidence_ of an erection, not the actual thing itself – but never actually felt one up close and personal. Not that it was actually _feeling_ per se – it was just _there,_ making its presence felt, but that was all.

But it felt...good... _really_ good...

Christian slid his hands under Syed's t-shirt, the shock of warm skin against his lower belly making his prick jump from semi to _full_ erection in 0 seconds flat. When he groaned this seemed to signal Christian to pull him even closer, and start nibbling at his ear. “You smell _so_ fucking good. I swear I could eat you right here, right now.”

Now, Syed wasn't going to pretend that this was the very first time he'd been aroused, but this _was_ the very first time he'd been aroused by an intimate embrace from another guy. Yes, he'd watched porn (he wasn't a complete prude) but sex was so fucking _intimate_ , seemed to him so damn irrevocable – once you went there you could never go back – that he'd kept himself carefully aloof, _aware_ of the attraction, the apparent rewards, but far more concerned with the _drawbacks_. If he _never_ indulged then he'd remain sin free, able to eventually marry with no stain on his conscience. Right? Made sense right? So why then was he here, with this guy, a guy who was clearly, without doubt, a fucking _danger_ (could it be any more obvious that the was dangerous? Was there really any need for red flags, klaxons, red lights flashing to make the point? ) to everything he stood for, everything he believed and believed he wanted, practically telling the entire world that any minute now he was going to let the guy fuck him! Do it _any_ way he wanted – on the floor, against a convenient wall – with no word of protest, not even a pretence of shame from Syed.

What the fuck had become of his common-sense?

He had never allowed himself to get to this state before; had _always_ been able to hold it down, fucking _resist_ any and all overtures and some of them had been a _lot_ more forceful than Christian's. To be honest Christian hadn't been at all forceful, only his eyes making it clear that he was attracted to Syed. In every other way he' been a real gentleman, putting him at ease; polite, not too familiar, just really friendly. _Syed_ had been the flirtatious one, and yes he knew he could be a bit of a flirt – even girls accused him of that – it's just that it had always been ..fun...light, the fact that _he_ knew he had no intention of letting it get further than mere flirtation allowing him to _keep_ it that way.

It had been different with Christian.

For a start _he'd_ been the woo-er – or so it seemed to him (had no experience to draw on here), aware of the difference in the way it felt: so different to be the pursuer rather than the one being pursued. It felt...good: dangerous, risky, but good. It seemed to him that though Christian liked him – in that way – his intent remained focused on friendship, apparently content to take his cues from Syed. And that was the point: Syed had found himself in the driving seat for once and realised that he bloody liked it! So much so that he had uncovered an aspect of himself he hadn’t even known existed, the part of him that wasn't at all shy or virginal, knew what it wanted and went all out to get it, damn the consequences. And, completely attuned to him as he must have been, it was to this that Christian had started to react ...

“You know we can't slow dance to this beat, right?” He was raking his nails gently across the skin of Christian's hands and was rewarded a second later with a gentle bite on the neck.

“Says who?” So saying he turned Syed, gently fitting both hands low on his hips, thumbs making several slow deliberate circles against his hipbones. “We can do any damn thing we like: I'll dance to your beat and you dance to mine.” He was staring into Syed's eyes now, the words taking on added significance.

“Think I'll be able to follow your beat?” His gaze dropped to Christian's mouth, unable to pretend he wasn't thinking what he was thinking, that he didn’t desperately want what he wanted...

“I'll wait for you.”

Syed honestly didn't know what was happening to him. He didn’t care: didn’t care about his faith, his family, his reputation. Nothing else mattered in this moment; just being here with him, drinking him in and basking in the sensual delight of this intense arousal. As a scientist he _understood_ the cold mechanics of arousal, but had never actually believed he'd experience it in this way – sight clear, hearing sharp, everything crystal clear, his senses on hyper alert.

“Promise?”

Christian somehow managed to pull him even closer, hands moving up to the small of his back. “Promise.”

 

**

“I can't say that I've had that much experience driving with a hard cock.” Syed burst out laughing. “What?” he demanded, also laughing. “Should I have put that better?”

“Well you could have, yeah, but I'm laughing because I don't believe you. Obviously.”

“What? I just don't generally get aroused while I'm driving a bloody car!”

“No,” he said patiently, tweaking his nose. “But have you been aroused then had to get in a car and...drive it?”

Christian wrinkled his nose. “Well when you put it like that, but to be honest not that often, really.”

“You've never picked someone up from a club, got all hot and bothered and then taken them home?” It still astonished him that he could still actually joke about Christian being involved with other guys when a part of him was jealous as hell. The major part of him wasn't though and he still didn't know why that was...

Christian pretended to consider. “Present company excepted?”

“Naturally.”

“Right, well then I'd probably have to say...no.”

“Oh come on!”

“No, honestly, it's true. See, I usually drink when I go clubbing or-” He gave him a sly smile. “ _Semi_ clubbing, which means I tend not to drive, but this time I didn't really drink.”

Syed thought about this and realised that Christian had drunk what he had – orange juice. Okay. “Why?”

“Because I was driving.”

Syed continued to stare at his profile, not sure he was happy with that as answer, but didn't call him on it. But his dissatisfaction must have communicated itself to Christian, for a second later he glanced at him and said. “Out of respect.”

Syed swallowed. “For me?”

“Who else?”

And there was just nothing else to say, nothing that wouldn't up the stakes , spoil the moment so he left it, allowed the answer to resonate in the silence between them, the only concession made the gentle hand that slid on to Christian's thigh and stayed there...

 

**

Syed liked living with other students. He'd chosen a house mostly inhabited by students on different courses to him – no scientists or mathematicians - and it had worked out well for the most part. The only drawback was the fact that they tended not to ever fucking go to bed!

It wasn't really that late – not in Christian's eyes, nor the eyes of those who studied the arts or whatever – but _he_ had early lectures and was used to going to bed at a decent hour – not really a choice as such: his body clock simply dictated what he could and couldn’t do. And his body clock was busy shutting him down. Annoying, frustrating, but what could he do? He'd hoped to at least have a few private moments with Christian but nothing doing, not with his house-mates lying in wait in the communal lounge that way.

God were they _all_ bloody there?

And the thing is it had been all well and good acting like a slut in front of people he _didn’t_ know, would never see again, but it became a very different matter when confronted with the probability of every single one of his house-mates making the leap from Syed's a good Muslim which is why he never has any girls in his room to OMG Syed's a gay Muslim and _that's_ why he never has any girls in his room.

He felt everything in him freeze up, his energy contracting like a snail retreating back into its shell.

Turning to Christian he tried to herd him back the way they'd come. “It's getting late, you'd best get back.”

Christian stared at him, puzzled, and it was clear that he wanted to say something, what, Syed wouldn’t have liked to hazard a guess, but after taking a good look at the open door of the lounge his gaze returned to take in Syed's face. He managed a smile, and the squeeze to Syed's arm was warm, friendly and reassuring. “Yeah, I need my beauty sleep don't I?”

“Don’t be silly.” He sort of pushed him out the door. Didn’t want to or really mean to, but he was terrified of someone coming out and asking questions... “I had a lovely time, I really did.” He tried to communicate with his eyes the absolute truth of this, but did he really have the right to ask anything of him now, even an unspoken understanding?

“Yeah, me too. You take care now, Syed.”

They stood staring at each other, the tension between them as high as it had ever been.

“Yeah, you too, Christian. Drive safely.”

“Yeah.” He tried a smile, but it didn’t quite make it to his face and he turned quite abruptly and walked the few yards to where he'd parked his car.

Standing there, Syed _tried_ to pull himself together, but as he watched the tail lights disappear into the distance realised that he wasn't going to be able to _keep_ it together and, not caring what the hell his house-mates thought, ran through the lounge and up to his room.

**

He had friends, but none that he'd exactly called confidantes, and while he'd not exactly felt the lack before knew that had he had one he'd be on the phone to them now, pleading for a pep talk, for someone to understand how the hell he found himself in this position.

It had all been going _so_ well; Christian was the first guy he'd got there with, wanted to go there with, and it had felt right, it really had.

Why had they come back to the house? If they'd only gone to Christian's hotel things would have been alright.

He glanced at his bedside clock: 11: 40. late, but not that late.

If he didn't see him now he never would again: why would Christian even make the effort given the rejection he'd just received at Syed's hands?

There was absolutely no reason for Christian to want to see him again, but he just had to try.

Should he phone him first? No.

Okay, so it was very likely that he'd be back here within the hour, egg on his face, but maybe, just maybe...

Should he have a quick shower? Yeah – a quick one – and pack a toothbrush, change of undies? Yes, yes and yes. Oh god, what was he even doing? He hated being humiliated, hated being rejected, and there was absolutely no way in hell Christian wasn’t going to reject him. But he had to, owed him that. Christian had been rejected in the most abrupt and inexplicable manner and hadn’t even made a fuss – at the time, anyway. Now, though, how would he feel _now_? He'd be angry wouldn't he? Want to lash out. And maybe Syed needed that, needed him to lash out, needed to face him in his anger.

It felt, as he gathered his belongings, deep in thought, that this was something he needed - to face himself, to take responsibility for his actions, his decisions and maybe _this_ was the only way he was going to do that. Has to put himself in the position of actively deciding to sleep with a guy: doing it, going in to it, with eyes wide open, no longer hiding; this time saying 'yes, please', not 'no, never'.

It would be the hardest thing he'd ever done, bar _nothing_ , and he'd do it, do it because he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted Christian that night.

Tomorrow, who knew how he'd feel, but the truth was he was tired of denying himself, tired of constantly saying no, always in fear. Fear of what though, really? He wasn't a coward, was he? So why did he always become one when it came to his sexuality? And the thing was he'd thought he could live that way: duck and dive, want but never find the courage to take the plunge, but no, turned out he really couldn't. Apparently meeting Christian had torn something, broken something that could never now be fixed, and that fact was illustrated in his actions now: calling a taxi to take him to the other side of town – to the Mildred Pierce Hotel – where, hopefully he'd find Christian waiting, willing to give him another chance.

If that didn't happen...

Well he didn't know what he'd do except he couldn’t see himself being willing to give up at the first hurdle. Like he said, meeting Christian had torn something, probably the veil behind which he'd been content to hide for so long, and he couldn't go back, not now, not ever. It had been pretty easy before, but the minute he'd got to the safety of his room, tried to disappear behind that veil he'd found that he could no longer find it or rather he could, but it was no longer whole or effective; in pieces now, no longer able to provide effective cover or protection. And there he'd been, out in the open, exposed to himself, everything laid bare. And it had been _easy_ , easier than he'd ever have thought possible even a few hours before, easy to make that decision, that choice: repair the veil to the best of his ability or fuck the veil and choose Christian.

How could he make another?

 

**

Since he really, really wanted to stay in the taxi Syed _made_ himself get out immediately, resisting the temptation to ask the driver to wait 5 minutes in case he returned (empty-handed).

He stared up at the imposing building, wondering why it was called Mildred Pierce. He intuitively knew that it wasn't named after the proprietor, but that's all he knew.

There was a man behind the reception desk and as soon as their eyes met Syed knew he was gay. “Good evening, sir, may I help you?” He was fairly subtle, but no, _not_ that subtle at all really, yet Syed was so tense, so caught up in his preparation for the encounter with Christian that he could barely spare the energy to even notice anyone or anything else.

“I'm looking for a guest: Christian, Christian Clarke.”

He could see the guy's disappointment, a dimming of the light in his eyes, but thoroughly professional he immediately leafed through his register, finding the information he needed almost straight away. “Yes, he's in. I'll give him a call-”

“He's expecting me.” He found a subtly saucy smile. The last thing he needed was for Christian to have a chance to marshal his defences, refuse Syed the opportunity to _persuade_ him.

“Oh. Okay. Go right up then.” He was smiling now, too. “Room 11.”

Almost bursting with relief – first hurdle navigated – he tried to keep his thanks less than _effusive_ , aware that he was supposed to be expected, wanted, welcomed: he wouldn't be relieved to get past reception if that were actually the case would he?

Room 11, according to the hotel layout was on the third floor, which gave him more time to think - not sure whether that was a good thing or a bad – but in any case he was on his way, and sooner or later he'd be face-to-face with Christian.

Nice place – old-fashioned, but in a nice way – well kept, the décor tasteful and understated. He wouldn't have expected Christian to be attracted to this kind of place, but then he didn't exactly know him well enough to say did he?

There was music coming from behind the closed door of room 11 – some r'n'b track he vaguely recognised. As his heart started hammering, urging him to turn around and walk back downstairs, he forced himself to knock smartly on the door.

He heard the rustle of clothes, the sound of feet and then the door was open and he was face-to-face with him, with Christian.

“Syed.” He looked and sounded astonished, but not incensed, not enraged.

“Hello, Christian.”

Christian opened the door and stepped back to let him pass. “Come in.”

The room was big and airy, the lighting subtle and classy. If he didn't know better he'd have said it was Christian's own space rather than the impersonal shared space of a public hotel, it just felt...comfortable, homely even. He turned, ready to speak, but Christian didn't let him: he was there in his space, arms around Syed's waist, pulling him close. “Don't even think of fucking going _anywhere_ tonight. You're going _nowhere_.”

Blinking up at him Syed let the bag drop from his numb fingers and wrapped both arms around Christian's neck, aware now of the naked skin of Christian's arms exposed by the skimpy black vest he was wearing, but more interested – for now - in the mouth seeking his.

He'd been kissed before – nothing serious, nothing that had made him want the guy to take it deeper – but he'd always known that kissing was something that _should_ make you wan t to take it deeper. Of course that was probably why he'd never even tried to find guys to kiss, afraid that sooner or later he _would_ go deeper and he hadn't been ready for that – until now.

He didn't wait for Christian to lead the way – he was so tired of being passive in this – and he figured that it wouldn’t matter that he was inexperienced, because Christian would, as he'd promised, 'wait for him'. They had time and while he felt that he wanted to get there like _yesterday_ , admitted that there really was no timetable on this. If Christian was the type of guy who only cared about the sex then Syed wouldn't be there now. Part of the reason he just couldn’t let Christian disappear from his life without a word, without a second thought was because, during the entire time they'd been together, he'd impressed Syed with the certainty that he was the kind of guy worth knowing, the kind of guy who probably came along _once_ in a lifetime. Didn't know _why_ he felt this, but yeah that is what he felt.

So he decided to not worry about technique, about lack of experience and just do what _he'd_ want Christian to do to _his_ mouth, tasting him, sucking gently on his bottom lip, running his tongue across both lips, lapping at first one corner of his mouth then the other. He must have been doing _something_ right because not only did Christian _let_ him, but also made his pleasure known in oh so not-subtle ways. Syed knew he was fairly slight by conventional standards, that he wasn't that heavy, but he hadn’t been picked up since he was a kid and was so startled by the sensation of lifting off his feet that he released Christian's mouth to gasp out loud...

“You are fucking good at that. How did you get to be so fucking good?” It was a rhetorical question. Christian was moving them toward the bed and, impatient, Syed shifted his weight so that Christian went tumbling on to his back, Syed on top of him. “You sure, Syed?” Christian had caught his hands and was holding them, holding him still, looking up into his eyes. “Because I'm telling you, I'm not going to find it easy to stop this time.”

Syed kissed his mouth. “Christian, I'm here. I caught a taxi, faced the prospect of being thoroughly humiliated and came, here, to be with you, to ask you _not_ to stop this time, to let you know that my eyes are wide open and this is what I want.”

Christian stared at him for a long time, a gentle hand playing in his hair. “Don't break my heart.” A plea or a command, didn’t matter, either way it made Syed feel like laughing for that was _his_ line surely, surely _he_ was the vulnerable one here, more into this guy than anyone in his life, ever. If anyone was liable to get their heart broken then he was the obvious candidate.

“Never.” And because talking was the last thing he wanted them to do he upped the stakes by placing both hands on the tight drum of Christian's torso, got hold of the vest and pushed it up, exposing the flat belly beneath.

A steady stare into Christian’s half-lidded eyes, then he leaned down, _maintaining_ eye contact, and ran a long wet tongue slowly down the warm skin.

“Fuck!”

“Hold your horses. Let's get the hors d’oeuvre out the way first.” He didn't know where the fuck this confidence was coming from, but it was entirely possible that he'd watched one porn film too many... Still _he_ wasn't complaining...and from the look and sound of things neither was Christian.

 

**

Okay, from his purely theoretical knowledge of gay sex, fucking was always the main course, but apparently that wasn't _actually_ the case, not according to Christian anyway. Oral yes, he knew about that; rimming too, handjobs, of course, and the 'piece de resistance' – anal. But there was _more (_ plus variations on a theme) and Christian had been more than happy to show him pretty much everything – _except_ anal.

Syed had asked if it was because he didn't like it.

“I do, but I'm not in the mood tonight.” He ran a carelessly affectionate hand through Syed's hair. “Don't tell me you want more.” He kissed him. “Didn't I satisfy you?” His smile told Syed that the question wasn't a serious one.

Syed snuggled into his side. “Don't be daft, I just thought...”

An amused kiss for his cheek. “Well yeah, I think we all tend to think that until we actually start being sexually active. You know that I'm willing to bottom for you, right?”

Syed was completely wrung out, but Christian’s words stirred _something_ ...down there... “Well I was thinking that _I'd._..you know.”

“And you can – when we're both ready – but I just wanted you to know that we can switch, and that I'd _like_ that.”

They kissed then, in affection, in friendship, in perfect _understanding_. “You still smell nice.”

Christian laughed. “You too. The way you had me working I should be ponging like a horse who's just ran the Grand National, though.”

“Well.” Syed lifted his head from the pillow of Christian’s chest, “I certainly wouldn’t be lying _here_ if that were the case!”

“Still fresh as a daisy then.”

“Fresher – never much cared for the scent of daisies.”

“You are so damn _literal_.”

“I'm a scientist!”

“Oh trust me I am _grateful_ for your rather anal – forgive the choice of words – attention to detail, the way you will _not_ leave a job half-finished. Very, very, _very_ grateful.”

“I think you've made your point,” he told him drily, not needing to raise his head to see the smugly satisfied smile that he was confident would be on Christian’s face.

“Well, you know, it _was_ pretty fucking good _._ Not ashamed to admit that. I don't think I’ve had that good a time in bed since I was about 16 years old. What?”

Syed had raised his head, the sceptical elevation of brow leaving Christian in no doubt as to what he thought. “Sure.”

“You don't believe me?”

“Well I may be naïve, but I _know_ you’ve had a lot of guys in your bed. I doubt _I'd_ be in your top twenty, let alone anything higher. Christian, that doesn’t matter. I never pretended to be experienced or anything. I was a _virgin_ earlier today. You were my first, and yeah I expected it to be good for me, but never kidded myself that it'd be particularly special for _you_. I honestly don't mind. No need to butter me up or anything.”

Christian was silent for a time and Syed began to wonder if he'd said the wrong thing. “Syed can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?” he said tentatively, automatically tensing, as if in expectation of a blow.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I-” What? That was _not_ what he'd been expecting and he struggled to change the gears of head and heart which had been preparing for a very different battle.

“No, I didn't either.” He said nothing else, just rubbed a warm undemanding hand across Syed's upper back, relaxed, easy, apparently prepared to let it go at that.

Syed looked up at him. “That's...unexpected.”

Christian smiled. “You have _no_ idea.”

Syed kept looking at him, trying to gauge him, figure out what he wanted, expected. “I hadn’t ever really thought about it.”

Christian laughed. “Liar.”

Syed grinned, slightly alarmed that this guy already knew him so well, knew him in a way that his life-long friends never had. “Okay, yeah, I'd thought about it, but didn't believe it was possible, really. Still not sure.”

“But it doesn't seem so mental now, does it? Oh don't worry, Syed, I have _been_ there. The moment I saw you – not yesterday in case you were wondering. I saw you last week, but spent most of that time trying to talk myself out of stalking you.” He laughed. “I really should have listened, shouldn't I?”

Syed was staring at him in unfeigned delight. “You came into Gino's especially to see me?”

“Well, no, it was for the cappuccino. You were just the extra chocolate sprinkled on top.”

Syed grinned. “What was so special about me?”

Christian shook his head, amused by his eagerness. “Still trying to figure that one out to be honest. You are so not my type.”

“Oh thanks.”

“Yeah, you're pretty, but I've never been particularly attracted to pretty guys. Scratch that: not for anything more than a quick fuck anyway, and at my age the taste for one night stands fades, shall we say. And you're trouble. I know _that_ like I know my own name. No offence Syed, but you're not the first guy I've slept with who didn't know who he was or what he wanted. Sometimes it's religion, sometimes it's family. Most often it's societal pressure or really and truly a combination of all those things. Either way it's no picnic trying to have a relationship with a guy who's still struggling with himself.” He touched Syed's face, gaze tender. “But you know what, I'm more than willing to try.”

Syed lowered his own gaze, hot, embarrassed, ashamed. Well he knew they'd need to talk about this at some point, didn't mean he had to relish the prospect and there was something about Christian's transparency that made him feel pressured to do likewise. Transparency didn't come easily however. He'd spent years perfecting the veil – and it hadn’t, in the end, been _his_ choice to rip it away. If anyone had done that it had been Christian or rather his unexpectedly intense feelings for Christian. So he was still tender, like a crab who'd just lost its shell. And this conversation, this conversation was the first scent of boiling water in the air... “I chose you, chose to be here with you,” he said quietly.

“Yes, and I can't imagine what it took for you to do that. Don't think for one moment that I think that you being here is anything other than _immense_.” He raised Syed's chin and waited until Syed looked into his eyes. “That's why I _know_ you're the one. I don't expect you to feel the way I do. You haven't had the experience-”

“Because I didn’t _need_ that, Christian.” He sat up, grabbed hold of Christian's arm, and in the intensity of his emotion, squeezing harder than he meant to. “I didn't need to _experiment_ , be with other guys, what, so I could have something to compare you with? I don't need that, Christian. I'm _here_ : that's all the comparison I need. I did for you what I've never done and never would have done for _anyone_ else. I pretty much put you before my family, put you before my faith. And I don't even fucking _know_ you!” Wow! When you put it like _that_...

“So: love at first sight then.”

Syed couldn’t tell from his expression whether or not he was being completely serious, but decided to take it seriously anyway. “I'd say so, wouldn’t you?”

Christian pushed both hands into Syed's hair. “It's not going to be plain sailing, though, is it?”

“Would you want that?”

“Oh every now and again, I think. Like I dunno, Christmas and birthdays. Can you give me those?”

“Can we add Eid and Ramadan to that list?”

“Done.”

They shook hands, staring into each other's eyes.

“Did we just get _married_ or am I completely off my head?”

“I'm going for the latter.”

Sighing, Christian pulled Syed to lie on his chest once more. “Me too. But you know what I’ve heard?”

“What?”

“Lunatics have more fun.”

Rolling his eyes, Syed gave the fine hair on the chest beneath him a gentle tug, smiled and closed his eyes.


End file.
